Eventide
by GreenShai
Summary: "Due to an extreme lack of activity in the current position of your team, composed of Sk. Miles Bradely, Lt. Andrej Kowalski, Ricardo Santiago, and Pv. Percy Jones, your headquarters have been altered." "Galileo Galilei," Kowalski mumbled.
1. The Big Apple

**Sorry everyone... I thought the end of the chapter was pretty weak, so I rewrote it a bit. :) **

A dark velvet frame, shaped like an egg, surrounded the black and white photograph of two young men grinning at the photographer. They were squinting, their eyes transformed to thin slits in, what seemed, a hot summer day. Their bodies seemed worked out, muscles showing underneath their identical shirts. Matching the shirt, were two askew millitary caps. One of the young men had put his arm around the other's neck, indicating a strong friendship between the two. Next to the two men, stood another person. However, the identity remained unknown, as a dark stain had spread across that corner. It faded into the velvet, lightly darkening the dusky fabric.

The man, in his late twenties, stood on the porch with a steaming cup of coffee. He looked up and snapped the little locket, resembling a picture frame, shut. The warm sunrays fell on his face, soothing and warming simultaneously. The man took a sip of his hot coffee and slipped the locket into the pocket of his jeans. But the sparkling eyes of the young men lingered in his memory, penetrating his inner eye as if it wanted to leave a message there. Sighing, he stepped back inside the dusty old room, where a young boy awaited him, holding a yellow package in his hands.

"The postman brought this," he said with a british accent, brightening up at the sight of the man. "I signed for you, is that alright? You were in the garden, so I thought..." The young boy's voice trailed off and he handed the man the yellow package, saluted with a grin, and left the room. The wooden floor creaked under his steps as if it wanted to imitate the complaining of an old man. Setting his cup of coffee down on the window sill, the man turned the package over in his hands.

"Sk. Miles Bradley," he murmured his name, glancing at the receiver's address. He quickly grabbed a used butterknife from the breakfeast remains on the nearby table and carefully slit the package open. Pulling out several crisp envelopes, Bradley opened the first one. He scanned the writing quickly with a uninterested air, then moved on to the next letter. It was all routine, the usual information he received every two months from his employees. Bradley tossed the papers aside and turned back to his coffee. It had gotten cold and he scorned at the marron liquid. The floor started creaking behind him, signaling the entrance of another.

"Kowalski," Bradley said without turning around.

"Yes, sir," the tall bespectacled man answered. "I believe I'm on clean-up duty today?" He jerked his head toward the table holding the breakfeast remains.

"Affirmative, soldier," Bradley answered and left the room, frowning at the floor's complaints underneath him. Kowalski took several plates from the table and carried them into the kitchen to set them into the sink. The tap was set on open, but no water came out. Kowalski returned to the breakfeast table and brought the other dishes into the kitchen absentmindely. He was about to wet a cloth and wipe the breadcrumbs off the surface of the table when his eyes fell on a sheet that had fallen down from Bradely's stack of envelopes and papers. The tall man set the wet cloth down and wiped his hands off his pants. He stooped to pick it up, but his eyes fell on the words.

"You and your team will be relocated to Manhattan, New York?" he read astonished. In discomfort, Kowalski took his glasses down from his face and started cleaning them with his cotton shirt.

"We're being relocated?" he murmured to no one in particular. Obviously, it was no suprise. Ole Virginia had been nice when they first started living in the century-old house; it had felt like an adventure. But now, the creaking of the wooden floor, the useless tap with no water, the partly-damaged roof, the bedroom window upstairs that won't quite shut, it all had started to feel like a nightmare rather than adventure. Kowalski adjusted his glasses and read the letter carefully.

_U.S. Department of the Army Combat of Service Boxington, Virginia, U.S._

_Subject: Relocation to Manhattan, New York, U.S._

_Sk. Miles T. Bradely,_

_Due to an extreme lack of activity in the current position of your team, composed of Sk. Miles Bradely, Lt. Andrej Kowalski, Ricardo Santiago, and Pv. Percy Jones, your headquarters have been altered. In two days, you and your team will be relocated to Manhattan, New York to deal with the increasing criminal activity there. You will be notified if any changes are made._

_Geoffrey J. Lyron Director, En.D._  
><em>U.S. Department of Army<em>

"Galileo Galilei," Kowalski mumbled, taking out two keys from the envelope. "That's quite something." The floor creaked as he left the room to inform Bradley, its complaints echoing in the empty air. Soon the table would disappear, the chairs around it, the little black couch, the TV. The kitchen would be emptied, its defective tap deserted with no hope of water ever running through it again. Bradley would never drink his morning coffee at his usual spot on the porch again. It was retirement time for the ancient house.

Two days later, the house was emptied, its retirement had arrived. The three men and the young boy piled in front an old dirty millitary jeep, laden with trunks, bags, and gadgets.

"Goodbye, old chap," the young boy whispered, his eyes following the house until it went out of sight.

"Come on now, Percy," Kowalski muttered, typing their new adress into a silver-colored GPS. "It's an object, it can't feel or speak or even know that we're gone."

"That's right, soldier," Bradley nodded, concentrating on the road. He was at the wheel, thinking about the new commission. For the last few years, his team had had not much to do. The worst that had happened was between two grandpa's, threatening to knock each other's teeth out. The teeth had been fake, anyway, and no damage had been done. And before that... the man's mind wandered back to the black and white photograph. Although it had been two days since he had last glanced at it, the sparkling eyes of the two young men were still engraved in his mind.

Percy sighed and settled back into the comfortable car seat in the back. He glanced over at his teammate, Ricardo Santiago, or Rico, as they called him. Rico was listening to music with closed eyes. Percy took the time and studied the scar running down his face. It started at his ear, running down his cheek to his neck in a long, reddend streak. Percy had often wondered what the story behind this scar was, but Rico had never told anyone. That might be due to the fact that Rico was mute. He couldn't talk. Occasionally, a grunt or two escaped his mouth, otherwise, Rico was as silent as the grave. Often people gossiped about him, especially in the small town they had formerly lived in. They were afraid of the mute man and came up with wild tales, such as that he was a physcopathic serial killer or a pedophilic rapist. After a year or two, Rico couldn't enter the town due to the suspicious glares of the people living there.

"It'll be a new start for you, Rico," Percy told him with a sudden burst of empathy. Rico took out his earplugs and glared at Percy.

"I'm not sure that Rico prefers you to pity him," Kowalski explained to Percy who suddenly watched the road with a new-found interest. Suddenly, Percy screamed out in excitement.

"There's a guy hitchhiking at the side of the road!" he shouted. "Can we pick him up, please?"

"Every day a good deed," Bradley agreed and pulled over. "Where you going to, buddy?"

"Manhattan, New York," the hitchhiker smirked and adjusted his backbag.

"How interesting," Kowalski exclaimed and moved to the back between Percy and Rico. "Then we have the same destination. Beautiful city, so I've heard."

"The only real advantage of New York is that all its inhabitants ascend to heaven right after their deaths, having served their full term in hell right on Manhattan Island." The man responded, still smirking. "Barnard Bulletin, brilliant guy."

"Jump in," Bradley said, motioning at the empty front seat next to him. He liked the man's attitude.

"I'll take your rucksack!" Percy offered and reached out his hands for the backpack.

"I'll keep it, thanks," the man said, clutching his backpack, and climbed in next to Bradley. The jeep's engine sputtered and soon the group was on the road again.

"So, where are you from?" Kowalski leaned forward with interest.

"Maryland," the man said. "Great place for retired people. Not so much for me." Percy nodded, thinking of their former stay in Boxington, Virginia.

"Well, what's your name?" Bradley asked the man after five minutes.

"What's yours?" the hitchhiker returned with a playful grin. Bradley played along.

"Miles Bradley, and these three back there are Kowalski, Rico, and Percy."

"Brent Adams at your service."

Although he was listening to music, Rico closely scrutinized the hitchhiker. He had a long face, his brown hair was longer in the back, put together with a hairband. His eyes were small, darting to and fro, indecisive. His hand clutched his backpack, his pose was tight. His fingers started to draw something out of the front pocket of his bag.

"Mind if I smoke," Adams asked, revealing a box of cigarrettes. He lightened one without waiting for consent and offered the pack to the rest in the car. Rico took one, but didn't light it. He stuffed it into his pocket, then handed the package to Kowalski, who passed it back to Adams.

"Mhmmm," Adams said, smoking his cigarette, suddenly willing to talk a bit more. "So, what are you boys up to?"

"Nothing much," Bradley said, checking the gas tank. "We're moving because of our job."

"Whatcha doing?" Adams puffed out a cloud of smoke and Kowalski reached over Private and opened a window.

"We work for the millitary," Bradley answered.

Adams sat up, forgetting his cigarette for a moment, "Really? I used to serve there for a while, but I'm a Private. What's your rank?"

"I'm a Private, too!" Percy interrupted excitedly.

"I'm a Skipper," Bradley said. "Used to serve in the Navy for some time, then changed to the Army. Captain now."

"Lieutenant." Kowalski said.

"And him?" Adams jerked his head toward Rico.

"He's our weapon expert. No special rank for him, but he's one hell of a guy to have on your team," Bradely explained. Adams nodded and puffed on his cigarrette again. Then he threw it out of the window and, leaning his head back, closed his eyes and soon fell asleep, head drooping. His mouth opened a little, revealing stained teeth.

The time passed. Skipper took turns driving with Rico and Kowalski, they stopped several times on the way to buy lunch and go to the "loo" as Percy called it. Adams had started telling them a bit more about his life. He had been raised in the country by strict parents, but hated his life. Despite his father's wish for him to follow in his footsteps as an energy engineer, Adams had no interest whatsoever in biofuels or hydropowers, and so deliberately joined the army against his parent's wishes. He spent a year or so there, but because of his bad habits of reaching for the bottle after every crisis, he was never upgraded to more than a Private. In fact, he had been the black sheep of his squad. He left the army after an unfortunate event and now worked in a bar in Manhattan. Adams had been visiting some friends and now he was returning to Manhattan per hitchhiking.

Finally, night had already drawn her curtains, the jeep passed a illuminated, ridiciously large, sign that read "You are now entering Manhattan, New York. We hope you enjoy your stay." Underneath the words, someone had graffiti-sprayed "It's the Highway to Hell!" They passed underneath the sign.

"Wow," Bradley muttered after a few minutes of driving. An array of sparkling lights, emanating from skyscrapers, stretched across the horizont, shimmering like stars against the dark blue night sky. An elongated body of water stretched to the side of the highway, its surface reflecting the extravagant city. Several luxurious ships perched on the river, lights, music and people furnishing their decks. Completing the breathtaking scene was the national emblem for liberty, freedom and equality: the green Statue of Liberty in all her glory, holding up the golden torch high above New York.

"Home, sweet home, eh?" Adams said in a raspy voice. He threw the most recent cigarette out of the car window and grinned with the air of a true New Yorker. "Thanks, guys, for taking me along."

Bradley pulled the car over to a road and stopped the engine, "No offense, but you should stop smoking," he said, waiting for Adams to get his things together. "That's an order, soldier."

Adams mock-saluted, "Aye-aye, Skipper."

"Skipper, eh?" Bradley smirked. "That has a nice touch to it."

The hitchhiker slung his backpack over his soldier, waved a coquette goodbye, and disappeared into the dark New Yorker streets, whistling some tune.

"Well," Kowalski said after a while, "we should be on our way to the new accomadation, shouldn't we, Bradley?Bradley shook his head, "Forget the name, call me Skipper from now on."

"Skipper, sir?" Kowalski's eyes danced merrily. "I suppose we would call Percy

Private, then."

"Why not?" Bradley returned. "Skipper, Kowalski, Rico, and Private. I like it." Rico nodded vigorously. It was obvious that he was also pleased with the results. Percy mumbled something, his eyes half-shut. It was getting quite late and the young boy yearned for his soft bed.

"Seems like the Private wants to catch some Zzz's," Bradley, now Skipper, observed. "I say, we find our apartment and move in." He started the engine again and rolled through the streets. Kowalski turned the GPS on and picked the new adress he had typed in earlier. The touchscreen immediately responded and proceeded to show him a map of Manhattan.

"Drive 950 feet, then turn left," a pleasant female voice sounded from the gadget. Skipper followed the voice's direction, turning left after the designated time. The jeep passed through the empty sidestreets, where tall lonely street lights cast cones of light on to the sidewalk. Cats were crowding in corners where people had thrown their trash to and Skipper made out a few people on the sidewalk, often lying alone with a dirty blanket or a bag.

"Sir, isn't this the city that never sleeps?" Kowalski's voice sounded near to his ear.

After half an hour or so, they came to a stop in front of a large gated community with, in what seemed, a colossal park right next to it, but it was hard to see in the darkness.

"I believe we're in front of the Central Park," Kowalski spectulated, glancing at the GPS' map. Skipper parked the jeep in one of the designated places and stepped out.

"Let's make sure, we don't wake any neighbors up," he said sternly, taking two bags. Kowalski followed his example, the sleepy Private, formerly Percy, took one, and Rico took four.

"Show off," Kowalski hissed at his muscular friend. Skipper inserted the key that came in the envelope into the entrance's keyhole and opened the door quietly. Then he stepped into a larger area of unused space and wondered which of the many houses standing in the housing complex would be theirs. A man walked out from a nearby house, lighting a cigarette then puffing it. His hair was greying out, his dressing style showed of a sophisticated, but rather modest lifestyle. Skipper set the two bags he was carrying down and quickly walked over to the man.

"Excuse me, but we're renting a house here. Would you know which one is number 64?" Skipper asked. The man darted a suspicious look at him, and puffed his cigarette. For some odd reason, Skipper thought he could read fear and distrust in the man's eyes.

"Well?" Skipper pressed again.

"2nd row from the left, go straight, turn right. You can't miss it."

"Thank you," Skipper felt indignation rise up in him at the rude treatment he was receiving. He forced himself to stay calm. "I'm Miles Bradley."

"O'Doherty. Leonard O'Doherty," the man answered stiffly.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. O'Doherty," Skipper smiled and turned to go back to his team. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes to show his frustrations and picked up his bags. "Let's go, boys."The four tiredly passed through the row of houses, ignoring the night sounds of distant cars and crickets. Their house was hard to find; all of the houses on the block looked the same, their dark outlines contrasting the night sky, lightened by the nearby city. Eventually Skipper put the fitting key into the keyhole of their apartment and opened the door. They stepped into a single room with a kitchen and stairs leading down the basement. Skipper groped in the dark for a light switch but couldn't find one. Rico handed him a flashlight.

"It doesn't seem very large, Brad-er, Skipper," Kowalski criticized, setting the bags down with a tired manner.

"It'll have to do," Skipper said, taking out his sleeping bag and locking the door. He set the sleeping bag on the floor and waited for Kowalski, Rico, and Private to do the same. They copied his actions, dumping the bags around them on to the floor, then each nestled into his own sleeping bag, tired but happy. Skipper watched them, his eyes aching, then laid down himself, pulling the soft synthetic cover over his shoulder. Tomorrow in the morning they could clean up. Tomorrow would be a new day, they would unpack, get to know their neighbors, start their new life. The warmth of the sleeping bag intruded into his thoughts and he stifled a yawn.

"Nothing like an good old fart sack, eh?" he murmured and closed his eyes.

Kowalski mumbled good night, then Skipper's thoughts washed gently over his brain like soft waves on a beach.

**Please review and tell me what you thought. :) I can handle criticism and would love ideas. But I already have the story line in my head. Also, I am not from the states, so I don't know if it really is only a day's trip from Virginia to NY and such. **

**Fey :)**


	2. Dream I

"A long single note pierced the silence.

I was standing on a road, a long road stretching to a big mountain. Around me, were blue skies and green grass.

The note was low, monotone, but my guts were warning me against this tone. The note felt like it was calling all the people and it was calling me, too. "

"And?" I looked expectantly at Skipper.

"Well, I just stood there, listening and unsure, when two people passed me by.  
>You know, those kinds of tourists? They were a little like that. Talking happily as if they out strolling in the park. But they were moving toward that sound, that mountain.<p>

I tried to stop them. I caught up with them and asked them where they were going. To that mountain, they answered. Gonna be a big party or something. The event of the year.

That gut feeling again advised me to warn them. And I tried, I did. But they ignored me and I stood there, watching them going on."

He stopped talking for a second, his face telling untold stories of that inner battle. Was he blaming himself? It seemed to frustrate him that he couldn't help these people. I waited for him to go on, watching his lips move, as if he wanted to speak, but couldn't. Finally, he continued, his eyes downcast.

"Even more people came up from behind me. I freaked out and tried to warn them, stop them, but I was powerless against that monotone sound.

They all, all moved toward that sound, thinking it would be the high of a lifetime.

My guts told me it would the end of their lifetime. And I couldn't help them."

He swallowed and looked up at me.

"I've dreamt this dream before," he said, taking out a sort of object. I watched his actions, noticing that the object was adorned with velvet. Dark velvet with a sort of stain.

**I know it was short, but this is a sort of prologue to future events. :) I'll be working on the 3rd chapter tomorrow... reviews welcome... questions, comments, criticism... :) Bring em on.**


	3. Marlene's Entrance

Skipper woke up in a grey, rectangular room. The floor was littered with bags where the team had dumped them last night. The room itself was nearly empty, the only furniture standing in it was a coarse stone table and a matching shelf. The walls were odd, the heavy metal bricks, that had been used for building the room, weren't covered with any flowery wallpaper or pastel toxic colors. They just were there, unmovable and dignified. As if they couldn't be bothered by anything outside or inside the room. Circular windows allowed the morning sunlight to lighten up the peculiar room. Skipper shook off the blanket covering him and walked to one of the windows. Raising a finger, he tapped on it knowingly, then stepped back in approval. The glass was bullet-proof. The U.S. Department of Army had done their job, enabling the team to live, eat and sleep in safety. At least, within their own four walls.

His usually diffident face reflected in the surface of the window. His blue-greyish eyes seemed tired, staring at the man in front of him. Hints of crowsfeet adorned the corners. The commanding officer ran his thumb down his jawbone, his unshaven cheeks prickling his fingers.

"What have you come to, Miles Bradley?" Skipper asked the reflection in the window. He tiredly leaned his forehead against the cool glass. It would be just another usual morning, the training routines to keep his team fit and alert, the fun he had seeing them sweat while he barked orders. It was what the U.S. Department of Army demanded of him and it was what Skipper did. Prepare his team for combat. And perhaps, the time for a decent fight had arrived. After all, they weren't in quaint Virginia anymore, this was New York.

New York, New York. The haven of criminals.

His eyes focused on a girl on the other side of the window, walking into the garden of the adjacent house, the weary eyed reflection temporarily forgotten. The object in her hand had caught his attention. It was a small, plum colored, rectangle-shaped mp3 playerwith a logo on its back that Skipper knew all too well. The girl was listening to the music, white earphones attached to the mp3 running up to her ears. Glancing back at his men, still sprawled out on the floor dreaming dreams of whatever Skipper didn't care about, he was assured that he could pay a little visit to the girl next door.

The New Yorker morning air was fresh, yet tinted with the gases of the cars and trucks dotting the streets of the Big Apple. Skipper wasn't accustomed to it, as he had woken up to the clean Virginian air for the past few years every morning. The gravel underneath his shoes crunched slightly, but Skipper knew the girl wouldn't hear him anyway. He had seen that lost, blank look in her eyes the second he looked at her. Somehow he had trained himself to notice people's expressions. Whenever he would look at someone, he analyzed the emotions in their eyes, the direction of the mouth corners, the twitching of a face muscle, the stature of the chin, the altitude of the nose. A glance at the feet told him what the person was thinking, a look at the shoulders told him of their confidence. It was something he had learned over the years.

"Hey," a soft voice interrupted his thoughts. Skipper realized he was standing at the garden fence, his elbows placed comfortably on the railing and his feet crossed at the ankles, the fence supporting his body weight. He looked up to see the girl staring curiously at him. She had thick golden brown locks tied behind her head in a ponytail. Her brown eyes had a tint of green in them and her skin was a peachy color. She was wearing grey jogging pants and a green v-neck shirt. Skipper judged her to be in highschool, grade 10 perhaps.

"Hi," the girl smiled at the man in front of him. "You must be the new neighbor. _So_ nice to meet you. You know, it's so _terribly_ boring here. There is _no one_ interesting here, everyone is just so _average._" She thrust up her hands at several of the words to show her frustration.

"Well," Skipper smirked. "We're not that interesting ourselves, miss. Sorry to disappoint you." The girl scanned him quickly, then shrugged and stuck her hand out to him.

"I'm Marlene," she stated. "I live here with my two aunts."

"Hi, I'm Miles Bradley, but you can call me Skipper," Skipper introduced himself and shook her hand. "How old are you, anyway?"

"21," Marlene immediately said a little too fast. Skipper raised his eyebrow. "Fine," she grudgingly admitted. "I'm 17." Ah, so a junior. "But I can still go to parties and drink and stuff." Marlene added, grinning up at the man in front of her. "If you'll take me."

"I'm good, thank you," Skipper rejected her offer and disappointment showed on Marlene's face. She stuck out her lower lip and put her hand on the officer's.

"Please?"

"Marlene, I work for the state, regulating criminal activity," Skipper returned and withdrew his hand.

"Oh," Marlene giggled. "Then never mind that. This conversation never took place, right?" Skipper returned his attention to the little gadget she was holding.

"Can I have a look at that?" he asked, reaching out for it.

"Not if you're going to look for illegal activity there," the girl joked. Skipper laughed and didn't answer. He received the mp3 player and turned it over, inspecting the backside. Just as he had thought.

RVC.

Inscripted in black chunky letters on the purple shiny surface.

"So, what songs did you receive with the mp3?" he asked Marlene, handing her back her player.

"Ooh," Marlene started, her face lightning up. "This _really_ awesome song that_ everyone_ listening to. It's called Red Velvet and it's _so_ good!"

"Can I listen to it?" Skipper asked nonchalantly. "I didn't hear it yet."

"Of _course_!" Marlene grinned and gave him the earphones, then tapped the play button.

A soft flute-like melody filled Skipper's head. It wove in and out of his mind, softly alluring, stroking his brain. A second instrument joined, a drum, beating steadily. Boom, boom, da boom, da boom, da boom. Boom, boom, da boom, da boom, da boom, boom. Together the beat and the melody played with each other, chasing their own tails in a game of catch. Mothering banjo strings joined the group, calling out, children, time to go in, and the song grew together in harmony. Harmony subsided as a new instrument joined. Its sounds send chills down Skipper's back, with a sort of melodious rattle. Skipper took the earplugs out of his ears and handed them back to the girl facing him.

"And how do you like it?" Marlene asked enthusiastically. "Isn't it just _wonderful_?"

"I'm not quite sure how to answer to that question," Skipper stated truthfully. "But thanks for letting me hear it. I had wanted to hear that song for quite a while now."

"No problem," Marlene beamed.

"So," Skipper shuffled and smiled at the girl. "I should go back to our house."

"Our?" A tone of disappointment was not to be overheard in her voice.

"My men and I."

"Men?" This time the voice carried a tint of curiousity in it. "What kind of men?"

"Male human beings," Skipper held back a smirk. "It was nice to meet you."

Marlene cast a wishful glance toward Skipper's house as the elder made his way back. She was wondering about the other men in the house. Marlene watched Skipper open the door to his house and go inside. She sighed and turned around.

"Good morning, sweetheart!"

"Did you sleep well?"

"Oooh, let me guess! Yes?"

"Of course you did, sweetie!"

"Of course she did!"

"Of course!"

Marlene resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her two aunts, Stacy and Rebecca, who were 40-year-old twins, both still single and both having a tendency to overdramatize things. The worst part was that they insisted on a Game Night at least once a week. Game Night mainly consisted of Marlene being waken up at 3 a.m. in the morning, then dragged out to go bungee jumping, play hide and seek or meet friends at an arcade. Stacy and Becky, as she called them, were her legal guardians until she was 21. Marlene's parents had divorced. Her father was a drunkard with no right to see his daughter, her mother a lawyer with no interest to see her daughter. When Marlene was 15, she moved in with her two aunts to escape the aloof coldness at home.

"Hi Aunties!" Marlene greeted her aunts and walked into the house. She opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of orange juice.

"Hey, sweetheart, look what flew into the house this morning!" Stacy chirped, holding up a pile of brochures. Marlene took one and frowned at the heading.

"Plastic Surgery?" she read outloud. "Why are you getting brochures on that?"

"Well," Becky looked at Stacy. "It's nothing yet. We're just considering it, but haven't found anything suitable for us yet."

"Suitable?"

"Well," Stacy giggled. "Obviously we need to look alike afterwards again."

"Of course," Becky snickered. "We're twins."

"Uh huh," Marlene nodded, looking through the brochures, of which most were colored pink. "Ooooh, here's one from RVC!" She held a colorful funky brochure up against the light, then clutched it against her breasts. "Mine!" She giggled, then sprinted up to her bedroom.

Skipper entered his house to find the whole floor littered with clothes, bathroom supplies and empty suitcases. He made out the sleeping Private's blonde hair underneath a pile of clothes, which grew by the minute as Rico unpacked the suitcases around the room in frantic lunacy. Kowalski, on the other hand, sat comfortable on a suitcase, reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee. When the man noticed his leader's arrival, he set the cup aside and folded the newspaper, awaiting orders.

"What the hell is Rico doing here?" Skipper couldn't help himself from cussing. "I like seeing the floor in the morning, not Kowlalski's underwear!"

"That's not mine," Kowalski shrieked. "Those are Rico's."

"Nu-uh," Rico defended himself, while throwing clothes over his shoulder. "Bradley's."

"I should know my own underwear," Skipper narrowed his eyes. "Maybe it's the private's."

"Rico, if I might offer my opinion," Kowalski turned to his friend, but Rico simply glared at the tall man.

"I KNOW she's 'ere!" Rico shouted.

"Is he talking about his doll again?" Skipper whispered to Kowalski while shooting him a meaningful look. Kowalski nodded back, a pained expression on his face. After all, Rico was a grown-up man. Granted, he was insane, his speech was unclear and he somehow had every single thing that the team needed at hand, but his tendency to play with dolls scared the toughest man. The way he grinned when he found his beloved doll, the way he gingerly brushed her hair as if he was asking her for permission, the way he murmured to his doll all the time, well, Kowalski hoped his condition wouldn't worsen.

"Where's the private?" Skipper suddenly asked. The blonde's head was nowhere to be seen.

"Sir, I think he's sleeping somewhere under all the clothes, which must have covered him up all the way!" Kowalski quickly analyzed the scenario.

"Tell me something not so apparent," Skipper rolled his eyes, then started making his way through the clothes. "Soldier, wake up!" Something shuffled underneath the clothes and the sleepy blue eyes of Private appeared.

"Yes, sir?" he murmured.

"Nothing," a small smile stole itself across Skipper's face at the sight of the young boy. "Glad you haven't suffocated yet."

"Yes sir," Private dug himself out of the clothes sheepishly when a pair of underpants landed on his face.

"Not mine!" Kowalski immediately yelled.

"Rico!" Skipper's temperament flared as he turned to his weapons expert. "Stop the search. That's an order!"

"But, Bradley-"

"No buts!"

Private snickered.

"Private," Skipper barked. "You and Rico on maintenance duty!" He pointed to the whole room.

"But Skippah-" Private whined and Rico shot his leader the puppy-eye look.

"Not buts, soldier!" Skipper stood firm. "Now on to it. Meanwhile Kowalski and I will visit our new neighbors to say hi. We'll be back in thirty minutes. I expect the place to be clean by then."

Private and Rico shot each other a look, while Kowalski made his way across the littered floor to the door, where he joined Skipper. The two men looked at each other, then stepped out, the taller following the shorter. The door quietly fell shut, the streak of sunlight gone.

"It's unfair," Private complained to Rico, who nodded. "Everyone knows I'M the nice one!" Instead of answering, the lunatic looked around the room, an expression of despair on his face. "Don't worry," Private immediately reassured him as he noticed Rico's expression. "We'll find your doll."

"I'm not good with people," Kowalski muttered to himself. "I hate people. I wish they all were dead or robots, maybe. That wouldn't complicate things as much." The door opened and a short man peeked out. He had a hawk nose, blue baby eyes and his head was completely bald.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Hello," Skipper sported a smile. "My name is Bradley Miles and this is Andrej Kowalski. We're your new neighbors and just wanted to introduce ourself."

"Oh," the man's face almost broke with his wide smile. "Well, hello, new neighbors! Won't you come in?" He opened the door wider to reveal his home. In the hand formerly hidden by the door, the man held a super-size package of peanuts. "I'm Burt."

"I don't think we'll come in this time, but why don't we come over some other time?" Skipper smiled pleasantly. "Your home looks very nice."

"Thank you," Burt beamed, then looked at his peanuts. "You want any peanuts?"

"I think we're fine, thank you," Skipper answered.

"Well, come visit soon!" Burt told them as he closed the door.

"Will do," Skipper said as he started walking towards another house. Kowalski quietly followed behind him, seemingly deep in thought. "What's up?" Skipper asked when he noticed.

"Skipper," Kowalski mused, "what do you think Rico and Private are currently doing?"

"Cleaning, right?" Skipper remarked without giving it a second thought.

**Hello, I'm back, Fey. :) As you may (or may not) have noticed, I actually changed the name of the story from Absolute Truth to Eventide. Why? For one, Eventide is one of my newest favoritest words in the whole world: it's old English for Evening. Isn't Eventide beautiful? I fall in love with the word over and over again. :3 It actually also holds a meaning for my story but I won't say it yet. ;) Anyone have any guesses? :D What do you think Private and Rico ARE doing, by the way? **

**Btw, I will probably get my own computer this or next month again (my old one broke, I gave it too much love) and then I can update more regularly. :) **

**Love, **

**Fey **

**P.S.: I'd really appreciate it if you would review after having read this story. Tell me what you really think of it, you don't have to sugarcoat anything, but it really helps me to see what other people think. :) I think it's the same with other authors, making reviewing after reading a habit is a great way to show appreciation for literature. :D And you really do help the authors. Thank you all so much! :***


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